After, Again
by AelinG
Summary: The second great prophecy is to be fulfilled. Two centuries after the war against Galbatorix, a dwarven noble receives a mysterious warning from a dying man. The Unnamed Shadow will strike — but not how anyone had predicted.
1. Unexpected Encounter

A/N: I_ have the strangest ideas sometimes. Hopefully this story isn't one of them, hahaha. _

* * *

><p>The Feldûnost hooves rung clear against the uneven, stony terrain of the Beor Mountains. It was the only sound Yustar could hear in the empty valley he was in. His two guards were silent, staring ahead with solemn gazes. He had asked them to come along for his little hunting trip, in case there were excess animals to be hauled back, though had been unsuccessful so far. There were few beasts to be found in the Southern Beors, as the vegetation here was sparse and the soil dry. Why had he even bothered to come here?<p>

"Sir, should we return to Dalgon soon? For the sun is setting and the Urzhad will be emerging," the guard on his left, Elgrod, asked in Dwarvish.

"Aye. Let us make one more circuit of this valley, then we can make our way home," Yustar replied. He would try one last time to find a creature and bring it back to the table. It would be shameful if he returned empty-handed.

Most outsiders did not know this, but in the Southern Beors was a range of extinct volcanoes. The soil around it was still fertile from all the ash that had landed there from previous eruptions. Until now the volcanic land was still left untapped, for it was too far away from any of the dwarven cities. This was where Yustar was headed now. He knew that animals often visited the area to graze, since the grass there was the greenest in the Beors. There was a chance that he would be able to capture something.

So further south the trio went. The volcanoes were near the edge of the mountain range, along the boundaries of dwarven territory. Beyond that were stony flatlands, buffeted by harsh winds that made them uninhabitable. No dwarf had ventured into the flatlands before, which they called the Ashen Opens. Yustar would make sure to keep away from them. He spurred his Feldûnost on, the huge goat leaping over a narrow gorge. The volcano was just ahead. Already he could hear the bleating of several mountain sheep.

"Hened, patrol the perimeter and make sure there are no Urzhad or Shrrg nearing. I don't want anything to disturb me while I'm hunting," Yustar instructed. The guard nodded and rode off to the side, looking left and right, scanning his surroundings for any possible danger.

Yustar nocked an arrow to his bow. It was a horn-bow he had made from the horns of a mature male Feldûnost . He had bred the goat specifically for this purpose, so it would grow the biggest, hardest horns. The bow had served him well for seven years now, shooting with deadly accuracy and power. It never scratched.

He released the bowstring, sending the arrow flying in a wide arc towards the nearest sheep, a sizeable ram. It pierced its neck, and the woolly animal fell to the ground, bleating in pain, its legs kicking the air as life seeped out from its veins. The sheep stopped twitching a minute later. Satisfied, Yustar and Elgrod rode forward, the guard already preparing his knife to cut the sheep up into smaller, more portable chunks of meat. Yustar brought out a sack.

"That was a good kill, sir," Elgrod remarked. "The sheep was quite a distance away from us."

Yustar laughed. "I've had a good mentor." Elgrod's mouth curved up into a smile, for he was the one who had taught the young dwarf archery.

"Well, if I didn't do a good job teaching you, your father would've had my throat!"

The two dwarves chuckled. Yustar was the heir to their clan Durgrimst Feldûnost. His father was the clan chief. Two years ago his father decided that he was to learn how to hunt, and ordered Elgrod to teach him. Yustar wished that his father had taught him himself, but the position of Grimsborith was a busy one. His father simply did not have the time. Elgrod was both a skilled archer and a patient teacher, and Yustar quickly became one of the clan's best archers under his tutelage.

The Feldûnost stopped before the bloody corpse of the mountain sheep, allowing their two riders to hop off safely. Elgrod first beheaded the sheep (the dwarves did not consider its brain a delicacy), then proceeded to deftly chop up the body, removing any other unneeded organs. Yustar rinsed each chunk of meat with a quick stream of water from his water skin, placing them into the sack.

When the sun was about close to the horizon, and the sky was showing the first stains of red, the last piece of the sheep was placed into the sack. Elgrod wiped the moisture off his brow with one rough hand. Yustar tied the sack up with a piece of rope and swung it over the back of his Feldûnost.

"We'd best get going then. Where is Hen—"

Yustar's other guard suddenly came riding towards them at full speed just as Yustar began to ask Elgrod of his whereabouts. Hened had a fear look to him, his face pale and his hands gripping tight onto the Feldûnost's reins.

"Sirs! Come quick! There is a dying man here!" he yelled.

The two dwarves scrambled onto their respective goats, Yustar making sure that the sack of meat was secured. Hened dug the heel of his boots into the Feldûnost's flanks, and it turned around, dashing back to where they came from. Yustar and Elgrod raced closely behind it.

_A dying man? _Yustar wondered. _A human? What could a human be doing this far south in the Beors? _

It seemed that Elgrod was having the same thoughts as he was, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It did not seem possible for a human to have travelled all the way here without dwarven aid. The tall race were not used to the rocky, semi-arid environment of the Beors. Previous human-only expeditions into the mountains all resulted in most of the members' deaths. Perhaps the humans _had_ stupidly sent another one of their own kind here.

Hened led them to the Beorean Frontier, the narrow strip of earth separating the southern most limit of Alagaësia from the Ashen Opens. Yustar thought he spotted shadowy figures moving about in the gale-swept Opens, though they were probably just shrubs swaying in the wind. His beard was blown back and his eyes watered as they approached.

Lying on the ground in a pool of crimson was a tan, skinny human, his head bald save for a single lock of neatly braided hair. He was continuously coughing up blood, adding to the circle of it around him, and his skin had a purplish tinge. Yustar guessed that he had been poisoned.

The three dwarves got off their Feldûnost, crouching next to the dying man. Upon closer inspection Yustar realised this was no ordinary human from the kingdoms to the north. His attire was different, the man wearing a long tunic with mosaic patterns dyed into the cloth. Around his waist was a loincloth, and strapped to his lower legs were bands of bronze. And he wore the strangest headdress, a leather circlet with striking feathers sewn into the material. It was very much the queerest clothing Yustar had ever seen.

"Elgrod, Hened, help me lift this man up. We must see to… whatever damage he is afflicted with."

However, as soon as Hened had touched the man, he bolted upright, screaming. The three dwarves jumped. Yustar's heart stopped when the man grabbed the collar of his tunic. He had gained an insane appearance, for Yustar now noticed he had two red eyes.

"Beware, dwarf!" The man hissed, spraying spit and blood into Yustar's face. "For this land has wronged us, and the Shadow shall take back what is rightfully ours!" He gasped and coughed out more blood. "_He _has returned! He who was thought Hell-bound! Our Dread Lord! Our Feared Saviour! Our—"

The man did not finish his rant, for Yustar had slashed his head off with one swift swing of his axe. The beheaded stranger loosened his grip on Yustar, dropping back limply like a rag doll. His separated head still retained his psychotic grin. The young heir was shivering, wielding his axe tightly in both hands, ready to attack if the man sprung up again. His two guards stood horrified at the scene that had just unfolded before their eyes.

"What should we do, sir?" Hened asked.

Yustar swallowed, trying to calm himself. He needed to think this through clearly. The warning the man gave… was it even true? Was there really some evil threatening Alagaësia? That frightened Yustar greatly.

"I feel that we should bring the body back."

"What for?" Hened wondered.

"The warning this human gave… we cannot ignore it. It seems he was telling us of a new evil," he straightened up and gave the veteran guard a hard look. "We have the responsibility of informing the rest of Alagaësia. The dwarves must be protected."

"And how does this relate to bringing the body along with us?"

"He needs investigation, perhaps an autopsy. He is the strangest being I have ever encountered. Where did he come from? What is he doing here? How did he get here? These are things we must know, Hened."

Elgrod nodded. "We should inform the Argetlam at Tronjheim as well."

The three of them stuffed the man into another sack, piling it onto Elgrod's Feldûnost. "We must hurry! The news must get to the others quickly!" Yustar said.

The dwarves flashed forward on their Feldûnost, rushing back to Dalgon, Yustar hoping his father would take the news well.

* * *

><p>AN: _Reviews will help me improve! Have a nice day :D _


	2. To the East

A/N: Exams_ are over I can write more :D_

* * *

><p>Nights at New Vroengard were beautiful. In this part of the world, the constellations were all different, and they rose from different places, and at different times, the stars scintillating with each passing cloud. There were new night-birds forming darker shadows against the shadow of the sky, and new creatures which added to the peaceful nighttime cacophony, low roars and merry songs. Water, of which the island was surrounded by, crashed in a comforting rhythm against the high cliffs, always returning no matter how many times the coast pushed it away. Sometimes one could see glinting bodies of scales soaring through the air, their wings beating as they searched for prey with two shining eyes — and when they did find something, the sky would momentarily glow with colour from their fire (many times blue). The night was an experience the Lord Rider witnessed everyday, from sundown to sunup, from his open window at the edge of the forest. It was interesting how distinct nights here were from the mainland's.<p>

And that made Eragon miss his home even more.

A year and a half of voyaging and exploration. That was what it took for him and the elves to stumble upon this island in the middle of a large lake, or small sea, depending on who you asked. They named the body of water "Sielmere". As for the actual island, for lack of a better name, he named it "New Vroengard", in homage to the old base of the Riders. This island was populated with a number of previously undiscovered fauna, who made their homes in the forest, hills and coasts of the large isle. Eragon and his elven companions had set up near the coast at first, where they had landed, and gradually began building inwards. They had tried not to disturb the local wildlife, but in the case of an unfortunate number of dangerous creatures, they had to take more drastic measures. Invidia still could not get over that giant beaver attack.

The castle had been completed nearly a decade later, a humbler version of Castle Illirea or Borromeo, constructed from stone quarried from the hills, and wood harvested from the forest. Glass for the windows had to be made from sand and limestone. They had been given architectural advice by the dwarves, thought they were mostly left to their own devices and built the castle in image of the one on Doru Araeba, with several unique touches from the elves. It was relatively defensible, high walls and a deep moat defending its perimeter. Eragon had hoped for it to be the centrepiece of the city that would slowly grow on New Vroengard over the years.

Despite the grandeur and comfort it offered, Eragon had never slept in its halls, preferring to live next to the coast at the edge of the forest, where he could see the roiling sea (or lake) and taste the salty air. The window where he was at now faced west, towards Alagaësia. Sielmere was vast enough that even with his elven eyesight, he could not see the far bank, nor his homeland. On days when had some extra free time he and Saphira would fly out to the Sielmere's western shore, just to sit, stare out onto the Forlorn Plains and reminiscence. He would wonder whether anyone was looking to the east as he sat there, looking towards them. He would wonder whether _she _was looking towards them.

The loud _crack _of wings outside drew his attention away from the dark sky. Saphira was back from her hunt. Eragon stuck his head out of the window to watch her descend in wide circles, and she kicked up a bit of dirt as she landed. The blue dragoness had grown even bigger over the past two centuries, about more than twice as big since they had left the mainland. She was ever increasing in size, yet her growth seemed to slow down with age, thankfully. Large dragons needed more food. Now she wriggled her neck through the window, so that her sizeable head was inside the house. Eragon smiled and rubbed her neck, and Saphira snorted smoke against his.

"_How was your hunt?" _Eragon asked.

"_Same as always. I caught several owls on the wing, and two Inyathi on the plains," _she replied, licking her sharp fangs. Inyathi were bison-like creatures with three tails and a thick mane of fair around their necks. "_What have you been doing this entire night?" _

_"__Just… thinking." _

Saphira sighed into his mind. "_It's unhealthy for you to be thinking about home all the time, little one. I miss Fírnen, but if I keep thinking about him I'll never be able to concentrate on the present." _

_"__I can't help it Saphira. It's been two centuries. I have no idea what would happen if I returned. The prophecy said I couldn't." _

_"__Forget that prophecy. I bet I could fly you back, all the way to Illirea, or Ellesmera, by dawn."_

_"__I am still hesitant." _Eragon lay his head against his dragon's. "_How would they receive me? I've effectively abandoned our home, only communicating through letters or mirrors or any fortunate apprentices we send there. Some even think me a traitor."_

_"__Ignore them then! Who's to decide where you go? You are the Grand Master of the most powerful Order in the land. Any protests can easily be silenced with one snap of my jaws." _

Eragon laughed at her indignation. "_We two-legs do not solve issues as simply as dragons, as is our misfortune."_

_"__Yes, you are all very complicated creatures," _Saphira huffed, pulling her head out from inside the house. "_I shall retire to my nest, then. I admit, I am a bit tired from chasing those Inyathi." _The dragoness let out a large dragon yawn. "_Good night, little one." _

"_Good night, my beloved dragon," _Eragon replied. Saphira slithered to the back of the house where there was a larger, sheltered area which was her nest. He had piled it up with straw and down, whatever soft material he could acquire to make it as comfortable for his dragon as possible. He heard her settle down heavily on the cushiony floor. Her mind presence soon lessened in his. That meant she had fallen asleep. He was lucky that she did not snore, for dragon snores were terribly loud. The noise was terrible in the Dragon Aviary, a separate area for the dragons to sleep as they were too big to fit in most of the Riders' rooms. It had been built up on a hilltop, so that the dragons could easily take off into flight.

Eragon returned his gaze to the night sky. It was still dark, a purplish-blue. Sunrise was still far off. He sighed. Maybe he should be going to bed soon. He would need the rest for tomorrow's cycle of lessons with his two apprentices, Aldridge and Julia.

As he prepared to go upstairs to his bedroom, a mind presence touched his, and it was not Saphira's.

"_Eragon-elda, dire news from the mainland," _said Blödhgarm.

_"__This late at night? Alright. I'll be there." _Eragon was surprised at the sudden communication from Alagaësia, as usually they were more courteous in their timing.

_Evil is brewing… _Eragon leapt off the staircase, since he was only three steps up, and hurried out of the house, bringing along his cloak, and his sword, which he always kept at his side anyway. He actually had the magical capability to teleport directly into the Mirror Room, but he tried not to use magic for simple tasks like running. It would have made his life too… easy. Or as Rhünon had aptly told him many years ago, "When you can have anything you want by uttering a few words, the goal matters not, only the journey to it."

* * *

><p>"Blödhgarm," Eragon called as he entered the room. The furry elf was talking to two separate mirrors when he entered. In one was a silver-haired, wise-looking elf with a circlet of metal resting upon his brow. He wore typical elven clothing, a green lámarae tunic with simple leggings, and he had a cape of shiny cloth. His blue eyes flashed when he saw Eragon appear. In the other mirror was a much shorter, stouter figure, a grander circlet of gold and jewels around his head. His thick, greying beard had been neatened into braids, which fell to a few inches above his knees. At his side was an inordinately large hammer for his size, the metal glinting under crystal light. The dwarf laughed heartily.<p>

"Eragon, mine brother! It is good to see you," the dwarf greeted, for this was of course King Orik of the dwarves. Age had not done any harm to his vitality, and he maintained his warm smile and healthy glow in his eyes.

"Aye. It is good to see you as well, Orik," Eragon replied, a smile lighting his face. "And you, Lord Dathëdr. Atra esterní ono thelduin."

"Atra du evarínya ono varda," Dathëdr completed the elven greeting. "I am most glad to see you, Lord Rider, for there are issues in dire need of discussion." He looked to his right and spoke, just as Orik looked to his left. So they were communicating with each other as well.

"Of course. Please enlighten me." Secretly Eragon wondered where Arya was. When Blödhgarm had told him to come, in his heart he had been hoping to see the elven queen again. They had not talked face to face for several years now, having only exchanged letters which were all of formal content. Needless to say, he was disappointed when he saw Lord Dathëdr in the mirror instead of her. She could be unwell, but Eragon thought that unlikely. Inwardly he sighed.

"Queen Arya sent me to deliver this message to you as she is busy with investigations in Illirea now," Dathëdr informed him. The dwarf king nodded in silent agreement. It appeared that they had been in communication before they contacted him. Eragon narrowed his eyes.

"Investigations? Into what?" he asked. He exchanged glances with Blödhgarm, who had stepped back to let him talk to the two leaders.

"Let me start from the beginning," Dathëdr said. Eragon ground his teeth together. Sometimes he despaired of the elves' way of rambling on and on without getting to the point.

"As Arya Dröttning had informed you by letter a few weeks ago, the white egg hatched for a human boy named Teodric." This Eragon knew. One of the wild dragons living on New Vroengard had generously donated two of her eggs to the Riders, one white and one yellow. The yellow had yet to find a Rider, and was still being ferried around Alagaësia by Ismira.

"Wryen Shur'tugal escorted him and his dragon Nihil to Ellesmera. While they were in the forest, however," Dathëdr took a deep breath before continuing. "Teodric and Nihil were taken."

Eragon slammed a fist against the table. "What do you mean, taken?" he growled. Blödhgarm was equally upset, Eragon could tell from his stiffened stance.

"Wryen had no idea what had happened to them. The both of them had gone to sleep, and when he woke up the next morning, the two had disappeared," Dathëdr informed him, maintaining an eerie, emotionless expression.

"What? That's impossible. Wryen is one of the most observant Riders in the Order! That's why I gave him the position of egg-courier — so he could keep a lookout for thieves and scoundrels wanting to harm the eggs! Nothing could have slipped past him," Eragon scowled.

"Apparently someone did, and spirited the young pair away," Dathëdr said. "The wards around the forest should have detected if anyone had left our domain that night, but they did not."

The Lord Rider paced back and forth in the Mirror Room, Blödhgarm his trusted friend watching him tear his hair out.

"It would require a great magician to sneak past the wards of Du Weldenvarden, Eragon-elda," Blödhgarm said. "That narrows our search. Queen Nadara keeps a register of all the magicians in her kingdom, as does King Orik. Amongst these there is a special list of the more powerful ones — we can begin looking there."

"That is what Arya Dröttning thought of, Blödhgarm-vor, which is why she made the visit to Illirea. She and Queen Nadara have not uncovered anything yet, however. All those investigated so far have been confirmed to be somewhere else the night of the disappearance."

"What about you, King Orik?" Blödhgarm asked.

The dwarven monarch stroked his beard. "Mine chief magician, Gannek, also has not found anything suspicious yet. Most of our magicians belong to Durgrimst Quan, of which Gannek is Grimstborith, so it has been easy to find out about their whereabouts."

"Blast it! Was there anything else?" Eragon demanded.

"Wryen said that Teodric had been acting peculiarly since they entered our borders, whispering in his sleep a strange dialect of your human language. He was unable to identify the dialect. Then again, the boy is from Narda, and that place has… unique customs," Dathëdr said.

"A strange dialect…" Eragon murmured. For some reason the phrase rung in his mind. A dialect of the human language… there were quite a few, many originating from the west coast of Alagaësia, owing to the people's isolation from the main parts of the kingdom.

"That is all Queen Arya wishes for me to report, and she sends her regards," Dathëdr ended.

Alright, at least she had not forgotten about him. "Thank you for the information, Lord Dathëdr. Eka elrun ono," Eragon said. The elf nodded.

"King Orik, do you have anything else to say?" Eragon asked. The dwarf king thought for a moment.

"Hmm. Aye! That's right. There's been a report from Dalgon, the home of Durgrimst Feldûnost. They say a foreigner crossed over from the Ashen Opens."

"The Ashen Opens?"

"Aye. They are what we dwarves call the stony flatlands south of our borders," Orik explained. "They do not show up on our maps, however."

Tacked to one wall of the Mirror Room was a large map of Alagaësia, one of several copies that had been put up in the castle. The Beor Mountains were painted in grey at the bottom right corner of the map. A thin red line had been drawn separating the southern edge of the Beors from the lands outside the dwarven borders. Eragon scratched his head as he examined the map. No, there was nothing indicating the existence of peoples outside of Alagaësia.

"A foreigner? Was he a dwarf, or a human?" Dathëdr asked.

"We think him human, but he was not any human we have seen before," Orik answered. "According to Yustan, the Grimstborith, his son was out on a hunt with two guards when they stumbled upon the foreigner — and he was nearly dead."

"What was he dying from?"

"The healers at Dalgon say poisoning, though they are confused as to _what_ poisoned the human. At first, his only symptoms were purple skin, and blood in his lungs. The next day his body disintegrated."

Dathëdr had to steady himself by placing his hands on the table. "Disintegrated! Impossible! No poison can cause a body to disintegrate, and few kinds of magic as well."

"The poison may have been infused with magic then, Lord Dathëdr," Eragon said, eyebrows furrowed. "From my studies in magic, it is possible to have a toxin contain magical energy which will only be released when the toxins have been fully absorbed by the body."

"How do you know this, Eragon? Been playing Angela the Herbalist, have you?" Orik laughed.

"No, King Orik. I suspect that such a human crossed over into the borders of the Eastern Lands before."

The room went silent for a moment, as the four thought about the implications of Eragon's words. "I do need you to continue your description of the human, King Orik, before we can confirm this."

The dwarf king agreed, and proceeded to tell the other three of the human's appearance. When he was done, both Eragon and Blödhgarm showed signs of worry, the Lord Rider blanching and gritting his teeth. Blödhgarm hissed.

"Then we _have_ encountered a similar human before," said Eragon. "Keya Shur'tugal was flying back to New Vroengard from Alagaësia when she spotted him at the south-western corner of the Forlorn Plains. The man died as soon as she and her dragon Mor'ranr landed to treat him. They brought him back, as they thought his appearance suspicious, and we did a short study of him. He disintegrated as well."

"Why haven't you told us of this before, Shadeslayer?" Dathëdr asked. "It could have been important information."

"I did not think it important for others to know. The man did not have any consequence upon the safety of Alagaësia. Besides, I am telling you now," Eragon said irritably.

"Peace, mine brother. But the appearance of the foreigners is not what we should be most worried about," Orik continued. "The man who appeared on the dwarven borders delivered a message to us. Possibly, the human you found was going to deliver a similar message, but it seemed that he died before he could."

"What did he say?" Blödhgarm asked.

"Word for word: 'Beware, dwarf! For this land has wronged us, and the Shadow shall take back what is rightfully ours! _He _has returned! He who was thought Hell-bound! Our Dread Lord! Our Feared Saviour! Our—' Then he was cut off, as Yustan's son had beheaded him."

"Barzûl," Eragon cursed. He closed his eyes, trying to remember where he had heard those words before. The entire thing seemed oddly familiar to him, as if he had heard those words before, but no matter how hard he tried, nothing of use surfaced in his mind.

"Aye. Barzûl," Orik said.

Dathëdr spoke after another period of silence. "This is a worrying turn of events, Shadeslayer, King Orik. I will inform my queen, and I believe she will inform Queen Nadara. Thank you for the information, and I hope we can cooperate more in the future if any of us uncover anything new." The elf bowed, and his image disappeared, such that the mirror reflected Eragon's and Blödhgarm's.

"I should be retiring as well, brother. Until next time," Orik's mirror went blank as well.

Eragon collapsed against one wall, his hand over his forehead. Alagaësia had been at peace for two centuries now. The Riders only numbered at seven-and-eighty, a powerful force to be reckoned with but still a mere shadow of their former glory. It would take several more centuries for them to fully recover from the Fall, and yet there was a new evil threatening their borders.

"I suggest we think about it over the night, Eragon-elda, then call a council meeting in the morning," Blödhgarm said.

"Alright. And Blödhgarm, how did you know that there was someone contacting us from the mainland? We usually do not get contacted by them at night."

The furry elf gave him a toothy smile. "Magic, Shadeslayer."

Eragon frowned at this insufficient answer as the blood wolf chuckled and stalked out of the room.

* * *

><p><em>Keep calm and review! <em>


	3. Discussions

A/N: _No, it's not who you think! (I think.)_

* * *

><p>In truth, Murtagh Morzansson did not like many of the Riders. He found more than a few of them arrogant and overconfident of their abilities, with few exceptions, such as his half-brother Eragon, or his niece Ismira. He guessed that it was because none of them had experienced the scars of war yet. They were all exposed to the lavishing praises of the mainland peoples, having been told they were of the most powerful Order in the land. He and Eragon had been chosen in a time when suffering was rife and Galbatorix's tyranny was a daily part of their lives. Ismira's father Roran had told her enough horror tales from the war to keep herself grounded.<p>

Thus as he passed them by in the hallways, he kept to himself, only greeting when they greeted him first. To them he was a calm and stoic figure, and he commanded their respect. Murtagh was amused by the way they treated him, choosing their words carefully, with some of the younger apprentices stuttering when they talked. He had never raised his voice at anyone yet they had the impression that he would one day unleash his rage at them if they said the wrong thing. He was a famed character in the history of the Varden War, as was called the great struggle against Galbatorix's rule, but his importance in the overthrowing of Galbatorix was dwarfed by the human glorification of Eragon Shadeslayer. Even the other races looked up to the Grand Master more, especially the older dwarves, who remained obstinate in their detest of him. Murtagh admired Eragon's ability to get along well with most anyone he met, even though such character would be foreign to him.

Twenty years of self-exile had allowed Murtagh time to heal and reflect, his dragon Thorn providing much needed companionship in those lonely years. Many secrets he had uncovered in the north, which he shared with the Riders. Knowledge was a useful thing you see, and he had no qualms about telling others of what he found, as long as he could keep his personal experiences to himself. Eragon later on decided that the apprentices were to take field trips to the surrounding lands, including the ones north, to better understand the world around them. Murtagh became the in-charge of all such activities.

After he emerged from exile, he and Thorn had travelled to Illirea, as he wanted audience with Queen Nasuada, the only person who made him feel twinges of regret throughout his travels in the north. Twenty years was a long time for a mortal like her. She had probably moved on with life, married some noble from her courts, produced an heir, and forgotten all about him. That was the way of the human aristocracy, as Murtagh learned from his childhood in Galbatorix's dark castle. It twisted his heart when he thought about it, the truth. He had flown to the capital with minimum expectations.

To his great surprise (and joy), all his worries were proved false, and he somehow found himself reunited with his beloved queen, the city welcoming him with loud fanfare and warm greetings. Twenty years did take a toll upon her appearance, and Murtagh saw the beginnings of wrinkles around her eyes when he first gazed upon her. It did not matter to the lovelorn Rider, for when he finally met with her again he realised that Thorn perhaps was not enough to fix his broken soul, and he was even more surprised when he found himself another year later married to the queen of the human kingdom, becoming a lord amongst men. He had refused the title of king, as there were still many out there opposed to the idea of Galbatorix's former champion ruling over them. Murtagh also did not like the notion of being bound to a throne, instead accepting an honorary lordship from Nasuada. Thorn teased him incessantly about it, not understanding the human custom of "marriage".

It was about this time that he first met Ismira, daughter of Roran and his niece, who had been sent to attend the wedding to represent the Riders in lieu of Eragon, since the Grand Master was unable to return to Alagaësia. She was a nice enough girl, with the same fiery spirit as her father and her uncle, and she was excited to meet one of her two uncles, both having been absent from her childhood. She had conveyed a message to him from his half-brother, expressing his wish for him to one day visit New Vroengard and the Riders. Murtagh had declined to take that path at first, not ready to join the ranks of the Shur'tugal. He still needed healing, and that was best spent with his loved ones in Alagaësia, not at some far off island in the east.

After Nasuada's peaceful passing into the void, he and Thorn eventually chose to leave for New Vroengard, after a long month of mourning. He left behind his and Nasuada's only child, Selena, who ascended to the throne to take up her mother's mantle. Eragon had welcomed him with open arms. After all, his brother had been expecting him for eighty years. The amount of effort Eragon had put into the island and the Order had impressed Murtagh and Thorn. During his hopeless days as Galbatorix's servant, never did he imagine that the Riders would one day return to full power. Seeing New Vroengard gave him more confidence in his Order, while Thorn was more than pleased to find his kin thriving and dotting the skies. He was given special lodging on the upper floors of the castle. He was an Elder now, one of the most senior Riders in the Order, meant to guide and instruct future generations of Shur'tugal. Somehow he felt that position more fitting than kingship. He would be able to knock some sense into the inflated head of any poor apprentice that came his way, he had laughed to his dragon.

Over a century later he had gotten used to the workings of the Order, establishing a respected presence amongst the Riders. The younger dwarves were more open, more willing to forgive a crime committed a generation before they were born. Murtagh and Thorn were at peace.

Currently, Murtagh was making his way to the Council Hall where the Council of Elders held their weekly meetings, to discuss important ongoings that had occurred during the past seven days and make plans for improvement. There were nine Elders at this point in time: Eragon, Murtagh, Ismira, Blödhgarm, Aefir, Vruruk, Khatar, Keya and Grydar. The dragons had a separate council made up of the Elders' dragons to handle their own affairs, but they worked closely with what the dragons called the "Two-leg" council. Arya and Fírnen were technically Elders as well, but they were bound to the knotted throne in Ellesmera and could not actively partake in Council activities.

Eragon had called a flash meeting in the early morning, when the sky was just beginning to turn red and the birds were still asleep in their nests. Apparently he had something important to tell all of them. As Murtagh walked down the empty halls, he thought of dark shadows and stormy clouds. He was not being pessimistic, only realistic. Alagaësia was nearing another Golden Age, and it seemed to him that evil always struck when the land flourished. The Old Order _had _succumbed to Galbatorix's madness at their peak.

The entrance to the Council Hall was two oaken doors, with a depiction of three dragons circling a dragon hatchling. Murtagh had been told that one of the elves had sung it out of the wood. Each dragon had a gem for an eye: a sapphire, a ruby, and an emerald. It was obvious what they represented. Elves had a habit of placing hidden meanings behind everything they created, Murtagh had noticed. Beyond the sturdy wooden doors was a simple round room, large windows set along each wall to allow sunlight or dragons' heads in. There was a long table in the middle of the room, ebony chairs lined along the sides. Overhead was a chandelier, the candles unlit since it was day. A large, rectangular mirror had been hung on the back wall. It was a relatively unfurnished room, compared to the ornamented dining hall or relic archive.

At the head of the table sat his half-brother, Eragon Shadeslayer, the only Rider in the room apart from him. He was gazing out of one window, away from the rising sun, the sun-rays colouring his hair a golden orange and his head forming a shadow against the wall. The sky he was watching was still dark blue, awaiting for the sun to travel across the sky, like a fire to a sea. Murtagh noticed that his brother's eyes were shining, whether from starlight or something else entirely, he did not know. Lately Eragon had been taken with staring out west, behaviour that Murtagh was all too familiar with: In the later years of his exile, often would he look away to the south. His brother was missing his home.

He took his seat at Eragon's right, blocking his view of the window. The Master Rider shook his head, as if he had been in a trance, the shine fading from his eyes. "Good morning, Murtagh," he greeted, giving him another of those wide smiles of his. "You're early today."

"You don't have to smile at me, Eragon."

"But why ever not?"

"Pretending to be happy when you're not is detrimental."

The lighter haired brother immediately dropped his facade. "How did you know?" he asked. Murtagh shook his head.

"You try to hide it, but I know you well enough to tell."

Eragon shook his head. "I need to do this, Murtagh. The other Riders cannot see me like this. It pains me, yes, but it is tolerable."

Murtagh sighed. His entire family had willpower, determination and selflessness, but along with these traits came stubbornness and the inability to accept what's good for them. Often times it led to their deaths.

"Eragon, you have to get over it."

"How can I? The only way is to either return to Alagaësia or forget all about my home. And as you know, neither are possible."

Murtagh stared at him with two cold blue eyes. "Are they really?"

The two Elders had to end their conversation as the rest of the council was gradually entering the Council Hall. The first were Khatar and Blödhgarm, the former giving Murtagh a surprised look, not used to the Second arriving before him. Aefir, the third elf on the council came in after them. The rest of the Council entered at about the same time. They took their places according to rank, Murtagh and Blödhgarm sitting at Eragon's right and left, the youngest Elders Vruruk and Aefir sitting at the end of the table. Ismira was absent as she was in Alagaësia. The assembled Elders all watched their Leader seated at the table's head.

"So what have you called us here for, ebrithil?" Khatar asked in a voice like the whisper of an autumn breeze.

"Is it the pirates?" guessed Grydar. "At least the Surdans will have to help. Their king Orlon had already signed the treaty."

"If it is my race, I can talk with them. The Urgralgra love war but we see sense," Vruruk chimed in.

"Or perhaps the Nïdhwal have grown wings and are devouring the trees of Du Weldenvarden with ground support from the Snalglí," Aefir added.

The other Elders shot confused and surprised looks at the young elf. "Aefir, are you being serious?" Blödhgarm asked.

"Of course not. Since when have I been?" Aefir chuckled.

Murtagh hid his face in his hands. Aefir was the queerest elf he had ever met, always making bizarre, ridiculous comments. Then again, his remarks were not the weirdest trait of his, for Aefir had heterochromatic eyes, one green and one amber. His green eye had a rare condition: If he tried to track a moving object with that eye, it would follow it for a short while before snapping back to where he first saw the object. It would also involuntarily twitch from time to time. Aefir had resorted to using his amber eye alone.

"Nay, it is none of those guesses," Eragon said. "Especially not yours, Aefir. There has been dire news: Teodric and Nihil have been taken, and a strange foreigner has crossed over from the Ashen Opens, which are the barren flatlands south of the Beor Mountains." Eragon repeated what Dathëdr and Orik had told him to the other Elders. Naturally each of them burst into shock and outrage.

"Wryen is one of our best Trackers!" Grydar exclaimed. "Only another skilled tracker or magician could have slipped past him! Besides, I doubt the two apprentices would allow themselves to be kidnapped without a struggle."

"No, I think highly of my cousin's skill, and I cannot believe any Tracker can sneak the apprentices away when he is watching them," Keya agreed.

"It is possible," Blödhgarm said. "However, such Trackers are few. I am more inclined to believe that it was a magician at fault for this crime."

"Only an elf, or the more powerful of the human magicians would be proficient enough," Vruruk chimed in. "Or perhaps a Shade." The Urgal touched the tip of one horn, which his race thought could ward off evil.

"A Shade has not been seen in this land since Varaug, and he was slain at the Battle of Feinster by Queen Arya," Aefir said.

"You forget that Shades can be created," Keya reminded him. "It is a difficult process because of the volatile nature of the spell, but not improbable."

"But who could have created one?" Khatar questioned. "The creation of a Shade causes a disruption that should be sharp enough for me to detect, yet I have not felt anything wrong." The elf had a unique ability that allowed him to sense the use of magic around him. It granted him unparalleled skill in magical combat, as he was able to preempt what the enemy magician was about to do next by analysing the disturbances in what he called the "fabric of magic".

"Let's not forget about the strange man and his warning," Murtagh said. He had been quiet until now, observing the others discuss the issue of the missing apprentices. He thought it time to cut in. "I think it equally important. Where did he come from? The south has not been explored as extensively as the north. The most we know of are the Ashen Opens."

"It's more plausible that there are populations in the south than a creation of a Shade," Khatar said, glancing at Keya. "In the journal of one explorer, he gave brief mentions of such peoples in the south."

"What journal?" Eragon asked.

"_A Mariner's Log of the Western Sea and its Coasts,_" Khatar told him. "An archaic manuscript detailing the voyages of the navigator Haluev along the western coast of Alagaësia, and a bit of the land above and below as well."

"I do not remember that being in the library, and I spend a lot of time there," Aefir said.

"So that's where you get all your strange ideas," Grydar mumbled. The young elf turned to the dwarf and grinned. Grydar pretended not to have said anything.

"That's because it isn't in the library. I found it in the library of Ellesmera — the only one which could rival ours."

"We will have to contact Lord Dathëdr then," Eragon decided. "Can you remember what it said?"

The elf thought for a moment. "Haluev wrote of a grassland civilisation… they were each barely clothed, as the climate was significantly hotter than in Alagaësia. There was a kind of small, dark castle dotting the coast. And they seemed to only have one port, at which he stopped briefly before returning north. He did not mention a name."

"Is that all?" Eragon frowned. "Now about his warning…"

"I feel that the entire thing is very suspicious. 'For this land has wronged us'? We cannot wrong a people we've had virtually zero contact with. And there is this unnamed Shadow of theirs, who we 'thought Hell-bound'. An evil person, then, who we thought dead," Murtagh reasoned. Firstly, this is unclear, as there have been plenty of infamous, and dead, criminals."

"The Pirate Lord Cyd!" Grydar suggested. "He is from Surda, so logically he would have allies in the south."

"That could be. Secondly, there has never been any doubt about the deaths of each criminal. There were credible witnesses. Is that not so, Aefir?"

"I think my memory can be trusted when it says yes," Aefir replied.

"The man called the Shadow by many names, and they ring in my mind somehow, but I cannot remember anything important," Eragon sighed. "More investigations, then. Khatar, we need that book. Send someone, or go there yourself. I will talk to Wryen about Teodric and Nihil, and we need a few more Riders to help in the search."

"I will go," Keya offered. "I'll be able to work with Wryen well."

"Alright. Except for these, we do no more. The Riders will not get over involved in the workings of the mainland."

Murtagh watched his brother rise from his seat, indicating that the Council meet was over. They all had to get to the dining hall for breakfast soon, for the sun had already emerged from below the horizon. The Elders exited the room. To Murtagh's surprise, Eragon did not leave with them, but sat back down in his seat, lying his head on the table.

"What are you doing?" Murtagh asked.

"I don't feel very good about all this, Murtagh. Two apprentices are missing. A strange foreigner crosses over the border with ominous warnings. It doesn't add up."

"Evil is drawn to good. You know that. The land is nearing a Golden Age."

"Aye. For now, I need to think," and he turned back towards the window.

* * *

><p>AN: _Leave a review, it's much appreciated :) _


End file.
